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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28834602">wishes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sofiabyclairo/pseuds/sofiabyclairo'>sofiabyclairo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, mention of hospitals, very slight happy ending though, wrote this while listening to mitski!!!! :D</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:27:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,800</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28834602</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sofiabyclairo/pseuds/sofiabyclairo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>sakusa doesn’t like making wishes, apparently they’re too childish. but he finds himself wishing that he never met you.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sakusa Kiyoomi/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>wishes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Sakusa wishes he never met you.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He’s never been one to invest in wishes. It makes sense with someone as no-nonsense, as practical, as logical as him. But life tends to push your boundaries and opinions and now he’s a believer, to his dismay.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He wishes he never said hello. He wishes his eyes never found yours. He wishes that he never sat next to you in high school and he <em>definitely </em>wishes he never asked to borrow a pencil.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Of course!” you beamed brightly at him. Somehow, in amongst the sunny day, the smile on your face blinded him more than the light spilling into the classroom. But he didn’t mind.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Perhaps he got lost in the radiance of your face because he didn’t see the pastel pink mechanical pencil that was waving in front of him. He nervously snatched it from your hands and muttered a ‘thank you’ before quickly returning to his workbook.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>He returned home that day, the gleaming image of you embossed in his mind. Reaching into his book bag, he found the mechanical pencil sitting right at the bottom of it. Oops.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>The next day, he ran to your desk to dutifully hand your pencil back. It was slightly embarrassing to think that he was so consumed by your glow that he forgot to return what he borrowed. He had never felt himself stand more uprightly as he loomed over your seated form, graphite stick in hand.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>“You can keep it, Sakusa. We’re friends now, right?”</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Friends? The most he’d let himself call you was his classmate but sure, being friends sounded nice too.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He wishes he never let you speak to him, your intelligent words spilling like a fountain. He wishes he never heard you muse about language, culture, volleyball, anything really.He wishes he never heard the sound of your voice.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>You were rambling on about something, Sakusa didn’t exactly remember what. Of course he was listening, it’d be rude of him not to. But he found himself tuning into the melodious noise of your voice rather than the words (blank) from your lips. He couldn’t help it, you had a way with his ears.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Sakusa, are you listening to me?” you teased. The aforementioned boy nodded fervently but the sudden spring from his slouched form into a more poised position told you otherwise.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>“You were talking about Latin or something.” he drawled lazily. You eyes widen in mock disbelief.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Is that all you remember? Are you that bad of a listener?”</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Maybe you’re just boring.”</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>A moment of stunned silence and then a gasp.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>“You are going to regret that, Mister Top Three in Japan.”</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Sakusa felt a fist push into his arm. The sensation of the punch was so feather light so he thought that there was nothing to regret. Maybe he could get used to this. But not yet. It was too soon to think about a relationship. Or even holding hands.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He wishes he never looped his arms around your waist. He wishes he never soaked in the warmth of your embrace. He wishes he’d never been so close to you that the smell of your laundry detergent lingered in his nose.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>First dates are nerve wracking. Sakusa thought it was ridiculous to feel so high-strung about dating, to feel nervous and shy and anxious. It’s just an outing, how bad could it really be? It’s a shame that he started to understand now instead of before all of this.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>His hands were sweaty, his chest was pounding and his knees were wobbling. Really, his damn knees? All of this because the thought of having to touch you once in his life was sprinting through the back of his mind.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>He knew you weren’t expecting him to kiss you at the end of the date. You were aware — and respectful — of his boundaries. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t feeling peer pressured by every romcom he had reluctantly watched with Komori to let his fingers brush against yours while you walked side by side.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><em>It didn’t help that he </em>wanted <em>to do that either.</em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Sakusa thought it was strange, that he felt so averse to the touch of another and yet yearned for your hands to be anywhere on him. He didn’t really have much time to think about the emotional complexities of his relationship with touch, you were already wanting to hold his hand.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>A gentle tap on his shoulder and you were staring up at him with puppy eyes he couldn’t resist. He hesitated before daintily wrapped his fingers around yours, pulling your intertwined hands into his pocket. It felt warm. You were warm. And now his body was warm. But it wasn’t warm enough, he wanted to hug you.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><em>Wait, </em>what<em>? Pardon?!</em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>With that, Sakusa felt his hand slip out of yours in favour of wrapping his strong arms around your figure, engulfing himself in your heat. Even with the biting cold, he thought that he didn’t need the jacket over his shoulders to keep him cozy. You were enough to set his heart ablaze, to let that fire warm up his entire body. </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Sakusa…” you gasped. Guess you were both just as surprised. He muttered something under his breath and you begged to hear it again.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Call me Kiyoomi, please.” he repeated.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>He inhaled the winter air and felt the bitter cold fly into his nose. He also noted the scent of fresh laundry detergent wafting amongst the chilly wind. Was he really letting himself be this close to you, so close that he knew the brand of detergent your mother used?</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>His agenda against physical contact nagged him but he didn’t care. Your touch was something he’d sacrifice his comfort for.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He wishes you never occupied his mind, he wishes you never meant so much to him, he wishes that he never loved you. He wishes that he never loved you because loving you brought him here, in his bed <em>alone.</em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>You were supposed to be there with him.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It was a shame that he loved loving you. He loved everything that you brought into his life. Your laugh, your smile, your terrible jokes. But he wishes he never let himself feel so comfortable with you that you knew him like the back on your hand. If he had just kept his damn mouth shut, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much when you weren’t around anymore.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It hurt so much to see you writhing in pain when he got home from practice.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It hurt so much to drive you to the hospital, to even think about your body lying on a stretcher or in an operating room. Sakusa ran through one too many red lights but he didn’t notice. He didn’t care. All that was running through his head was to step on the pedal, steer the wheel and make sure you came out of there alive.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Five torturous hours later and he learnt that you <em>weren’t </em>going to be breathing he saw you next.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It hurt so much to lower your casket into the ground, you face to never see the world again. His family, your family and all of your friends passed by, long hugs and pitiful apologies in tow. Everyone thinks that performative sympathy is going to help with the grief. It doesn’t.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Now you aren’t around to massage his back after a long day of practice, to listen to him whine about his teammates, to be the shoulder he leans on when he cries. Now Sakusa lies in bed alone, the bed you used to share with him, tightly grasping onto a pillow that he wishes could be you instead. He misses you.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He misses you.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>He misses you.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The first few months were agonising. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything. Not even cleaning the house or playing volleyball or eating his comfort foods. You brightened even the dullest tasks in the world and now everything felt so bleak. It still does. The world around Sakusa felt so <em>boring </em>that he swore his vision lost its colour.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It took a miracle and the combined efforts of Komori and the Black Jackals to even get him out of his room.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He got better. After six months of a depressive episode, he pulled himself back into volleyball again. He had to, it was at least one thing he could do in your memory. Days and weeks and months passed and Sakusa saw his beloved sport as a distraction, as a safe haven from the absence of you. If he could, he’d distract himself with the real you instead.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The eventual push back into society didn’t mean that Sakusa was okay by any means. Some nights were easier, practice would tire him out so much that he’d be knocked out the second his body hit the mattress. Some nights proved to be not-as-easy, the sting of your passing pressed down on him like a weighted blanket. An unwanted weighted blanket.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Tonight is not one of those easier nights.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">There’s an ache in his chest that he can’t shake off and there’s a rock in his heart that’s sinking it to the floor and there’s just so much <em>pain </em>coursing though his body. He’s never felt so sore before.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He hates feeling this sore.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">A tingle rises in his chest and eyes and he knows he wants to cry but the water doesn’t fall. All he can do is heave heavy breaths and weep. Why does he have to live without you? Why? Breaking up with you would’ve been a breeze compared to your death, he thinks.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It’s been a year since his loss. He knows that he’s allowed to grieve for however long he needs but some voice in his brain whispers that he should be over it by now. Sakusa wishes that he’s not in so much pain, that his suffering wasn’t there to begin with, that you weren’t in his life to make him feel <em>this </em>tortured. But perhaps instead of wishing to rewrite the past, he should wish to be okay. He should wish that the memory of you doesn’t pain him anymore. He should wish that he can power through this without you because that’s what you’d want.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">And so he does. He sits upright in his bed, closing his eyes in meditative thought.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>I wish that this’ll be over soon.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>I wish that I can return back to my life.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>I wish that I’ll be okay.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">So there’s not much of a likelihood that his wishes will be granted. So what? At the very least, he can finally feel the ache in his limbs and the tension in his shoulders and the tug of his heart slowly beginning to vanish.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He’s going to be okay.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hey y'all thanks for tuning into me torturing my favourite characters in the name of art!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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